Three

Cary held a hand up weakly and Jordan hauled her to her feet… and right into his chest.  Just standing up this girl was sexy, the way she fit against his body.  He considered how hot they would look together on their search for her missing friends.  They’d have to find some of his friends too, so he could rub it in their faces.  In the heap of clothes on the floor Cary found a one hundred dollar bill wrapped around the strap of her bra.

“What do you think this is for?”

Jordan shrugged.  “You should be asking how it got inside your shirt.”

When he’d collected everything he remembered wearing, he joined Cary in the bathroom.  And whistled long and low.  She stood naked in front of the mirror, brushing her teeth.  Jordan walked around naked all the time – occupational hazard – but he wasn’t used to girls doing it.  They always seemed be hiding something or feeling insecure.  He thought they were incredible.

Well at least this one is.

“Damn, Cary.”  He laughed as he moved behind her to run his hands along her shape.  She smiled at him in the mirror then bent right over to rinse.  She even wiggled her ass.

Fucking tease.

She did offer her toothbrush though, and Jordan did what he could with his hair.  It was getting too long again.  When Cary reappeared, she was wearing tight dark jeans with high brown boots and a white scoop neck sweater.  Her healthy skin tone glowed above the winter white, like some kind of snow princess.  She held up one hand.

“What is this?”

It was tin foil, twisted into a round cylindrical base then pinched off and topped with a crude bowl-shaped top.  It was rough, but it could only be one thing.

“That is obviously the Stanley Cup.”  He didn’t remember it, but it looked about right.

Cary studied it again, like an ink blot that might reveal meaning.  “You’re some artist.”

“Hey!  I bet you made that.”

She pulled an edge that stuck out of the base – a receipt had been woven in.  “We ate at a diner at 2:52 AM.  Uh, we weren’t alone though.  We spent a lot of money.”

Jordan took the paper.  It was just the credit card signature portion, not a list of order.  But it was only eighty dollars.  “No, it was probably all me.  And this place is right across the street.”
____

Even in last night’s clothes, Jordan looked so good that Cary had trouble walking straight.  He wore a dark gray button up shirt rolled back over his forearms and simple black suit pants that stretched over his ass with every step.  His suit coat hung open under his overcoat, and he even had a blue scarf.  He collected his stuff, then looked right at her put his tie and knit hat back on the dresser.

Fucking A right you’re coming back here.

She’d nearly died when he said her friends would need another room.  She’d take out a loan and buy a damned apartment if he wanted her to.  Whatever he’d done to her in that bed was the closest she’d ever come to a religious experience.  Now she wanted a revival.

They were passing in front of the check-in desk, Jordan’s hand on her back, when the receptionist called out to them.

“Miss!  Good morning.  Were you able to get in okay last night?”

Cary looked at Jordan, but he was blank.  “Uh, yeah.  Thanks.  Did I get my key from you?”

“Yes.  You misplaced the first one and stopped by for a new one.  You were in quite a hurry to use the restroom, I remember.”

Cary made a face.  “Sounds about right.  But that was the middle of the night.  Why are you still working?”

“Oh, I’ve got a double shift today.  Working midnight to noon.  So I know your friends haven’t been by to pickup the note you left them.”

Jordan leaned over the counter and the receptionist batted her eyes at him.  “They won’t be needing the note anymore.  Could we get it back so there’s no confusion?”

Jesus Christ, he could talk a nun out of a convent.

The woman behind the desk nodded like she was imagining his hands on her neck.  She’d empty the safe if Jordan felt like robbing the place.  She retrieved a white hotel envelope and passed it to them.  “Enjoy your day.”

They moved to the far corner, out of earshot, and tore open the seal.  Inside was a piece of printer paper, clearly borrowed at the time of writing.  Jordan ripped it right out of her hands.

“What is this?” he howled.  “Oh my God, you’re a serial killer.  Is this a note demanding my ransom?”

She jumped up to snatch it.  On one side, in handwriting fit for a mad bomber manifesto, was a note from Cary to her friends Sara and Liz.  

v busy with Jodran Staal here
get other room
I have $   

Jordan’s misspelled name was crossed out and re-written above in his handwriting, which looked equally sloppy and childish.  Then Cary had helpfully illustrated the note with a giant #11 over it anyway.  She ducked her head, cracking up.  Jordan lifted the note up to the light like he was a detective.

“This is amazing.  Can I keep this?  I might have to hang this in my locker.”

He held it over his head so there was no hope of her reaching it.  When she gave up, he folded the note carefully back into the envelope and put it in his inside pocket.  “I can’t wait to see what the diner says.”
____

Jordan felt giddy.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun with someone he just met.  Cary was turning out to be an excellent take away order.  Outside, she bundled deep into her green parka and Jordan put his arm around her, though they were only going across the street.  He’d already made it clear he intended to have her again.

Why not enjoy the company?

The diner was pretty empty.; the Friday breakfast crowd had cleared out and it was still early for lunch.  The woman behind the counter told them to sit anywhere, so they chose a booth off to the right.

“Hey, look who it is!” the waitress, an older woman with a red bouffant hairdo, strolled up with a tiny notebook in hand.  “Didn’t think you two would be up and about so early.”

“Uhh…,” Jordan looked at Cary, who stared back as blankly as he had in the hotel lobby.  “Hi.  Did you wait on us last night?”

“More like this morning, hon.  I’ve got the graveyard here, late night to lunch time.  About to be off in an hour.  Don’t usually see the late night people out before I go home.”  She  arched an eyebrow, smiling primly.  “Don’t suppose you all remember much from last night.”

Cary smiled right back.  “No ma’am.  Did we miss anything good?”

The waitress’s name was Barb.  She put her pad of paper down on the table and her hands on her hips, like a sassy mother would do.  She was enjoying herself.  “Well y’all are here together so I assume you made it home safely.  ‘Course we get kids in here all the time after last call.  Thought we were gonna have to throw you out for getting too fresh.”

Jordan was amazed that Cary held his eye the entire time the waitress spoke.  Her lips parted in disbelief, but she wasn’t embarrassed.  It looked like she was thinking about doing it all over again.

God damn this girl is hot.

“You could barely stop kissing long enough to eat what you ordered.  Which was a lot.  You took some to go.”

“Explains the Stanley Cup.”  Under the table, Cary slid a foot out of her boot and put it right in Jordan’s lap.  He choked on air, tried to cover it with a cough.

“But you left a big tip.  So thanks for that.”

“Can we have what we ordered last night?” Cary asked, still looking right at Jordan.

“All of it?”

Jordan answered.  “Yes, please.”

Barb walked away shaking her head.  Jordan grabbed Cary’s ankle in both hands and held her foot still from rubbing along his thigh.  “I thought you were hungry,” he said, tickling her.

She yanked her foot away with a laugh.  “I wanted to see if we could get thrown out after all.”

They’ll throw us out if I fuck her on this table.

But some quick mental math told Jordan the table would never hold him, let alone both of them.  And he did really need to eat, before a hangover presented itself.  So he grabbed his water glass and slid out of his side of the booth and in next to Cary.

“This seat taken?” he asked innocently.

Those deep brown eyes rolled comically.  “Just don’t eat my food.”

They hatched some crazy theories about what might have happened the night before.  As the stories got more elaborate, their roles became more glamorous.  They’d escaped a horde of Pens fans by dressing Jordan like a girl.  They’d fit Jordan into the midget’s little house on the bar.  They had robbed a bank or drag raced and won someone’s pink slip.  

Speculation reigned about Cary’s missing friends.  Jordan noticed that she hadn’t tried to call them, but didn’t point out this most obvious of discrepancies.

Hmm.  I don’t want to share her.
____  

Cary was in the middle of asking Jordan about his brothers when their food came.  Barb set a big tray on the next table and carried over two large plates – one pasta, one sandwich.  Then she went back for a pile of chicken parm.

“This one must be mine,” Cary said reaching for the pasta.

“Nope, honey.  That one’s yours.”  Barb hooked a thumb over her shoulder at another waitress, who was carrying an enormous hot fudge sundae with two cherries on top.  Jordan pulled the pasta back to his side.

“Sounds about right,” Cary said.  Barb gave them a look that said Oh, you crazy kids and left them to their food.

Jordan took a big bite of the pasta in red sauce.  “Mmmmm,” he said loudly, as if Cary would be jealous.

She gave him a dirty look, plucked a cherry from her sundae and very slowly wrapped her tongue around the bright red blub.  She pulled it against her full lips before allowing it to drag into her mouth.  A tiny drop of bright red maraschino juice ran just below her mouth.

Sluuuuuuuuuuuut.  Too much?

Just right.  Jordan attacked her, crushing down a kiss big enough to lick the dark stain from her skin.  Then he slipped his tongue into her mouth, as if he didn’t want her to miss an ounce of the taste.  Cary’s body popped like a solar flare and she knew exactly why they’d almost been thrown out before.  

Because Jordan could kiss a lollipop off its stick.

It took her a moment to get her breathing under control when he finally freed her lips.  Then she held up the other cherry, offering it to him.  He tilted his head and bit the dangling fruit right off the stem, keeping his eyes on her the whole time.  

“Not matter how many you eat, babe, it doesn’t grow back,” he said.

He just called me babe.

They shared all the food, rotating the plates until Jordan had demolished most of the menu.  Cary was full too, and good thing because her head was starting to ache.  Whatever she’d had to drink was not good fuel for her system.  Diner food would at least stick to her engine.  As they worked on the sundae, Jordan casually put his hand on her thigh and kept it there like a dare.

When they could eat no more, they watched the last scoop of ice cream melt back into milk.  Barb dropped off their check.  “You all come back tonight if you want.  We still got some ice cream left.”

Jordan palmed the bill folder, but Cary went for her wallet anyway.  “Shit,” she said.  “I’m missing a credit card.  I probably left it at that bar.”

“I bet it’s in the midget’s house.  Because you were definitely in there.”

“Ha ha ha,” she said drily.  “I hope he didn’t use it to pay for that shitty punch he was giving away.”

“You have that hundred from you bra,” he reminded her.

“I prefer to save my stripper money for new thongs.”

As the waitress ran Jordan’s card, Cary considered what to do next.  She had to get to the bar and retrieve her credit card, either before or after finding her friends.  That would start with a phone call.  But the minute she did that, this little fun thing going with Jordan would end.  Sure he’d left his stuff in the hotel room, but he made like three million dollars a year.  He could lose a hat and tie.  Once other people were around, she wasn’t sure their connection would hold up.
____

Breakfast was over.  Even the longest of one night stands ended after breakfast.  But Jordan had every intention of making his previous statement true – her friends were going to need another room.  And he’d left his stuff upstairs anyway.  That was his favorite tie.

“Should we go see a man about a midget?”

Cary covered her face.  “They’re called little people.  It’s insensitive to use the word midget.”

“Uh, no.  Man-Boy calls himself a midget.  They advertise the word midget.  If he’s okay with it, I’m okay with it.  Like if he wants to live in a little house and steal your credit cards.  That’s cool with me.”  

She punched him in the arm, which he simply caught in mid-swing and pulled across his body, so she was leaning into his lap.  Then he kissed her.  “This is fun.  Let’s go.”

Go all day, so we can have another night.  Then another.  It’s only Friday.

Jordan got them a cab downtown just by saying “Casey’s.”  In the backseat, he pulled Cary in close and took up as much room as possible.  Along the way he pointed out a few of his favorite places.  She asked questions and he wondered if he’d ever be able to take her somewhere, if she’d want to actually do something on purpose with him.  Because this all seemed like such a lucky accident.

Casey’s was a dive bar with a great collection of random crap on the walls.  A dark wooden bar to the left, a jukebox to the right and in the front corner, a little wooden stall like the ticket booth at an old theater.

“That’s Man-Boy’s house.”

“Oh my God.  I remember!”  That’s all Cary said.  There were a few posters and t-shirts hung up, promoting Man-Boy and the nights he poured free shots.  What could be a better bar gimmick?  He only worked late though.

“You worked last night,” Cary said to the bartender.  He nodded.

“I remember you.  And you, Jordan, of course.  I’m Dave.”

Well that part was easy, everyone in town knew Jordan.  Cary was in investigative mode.  “How are you on now if you worked last night?”

Dave polished a glass.  “I got off at midnight, back on at eleven today.  You guys were here a while before I left, take it you stayed till closing?”

Jordan settled his arm around Cary’s waist.  He was suddenly a little apprehensive of what they might hear.  “What makes you say that?”

From alongside the cash register, Dave pulled a black check folder like the one they’d had at the diner.  He opened it.  “What’s your name?”

Cary Staal.

“Cary Sullivan.”

Ooh, close.

“Yup, that’s you.”  He passed her the folder.  She opened it and almost passed out.

“Woah.”

Jordan peered over her shoulder.  The bar tab was $450.  He barked a laugh.  “Shit, Care, in a place like this do you know how much you have to drink?”  Sure enough the receipt was folded over several times.  He pulled it loose.

“Let’s see.  Sixteen pitchers of beer - well, they’re small pitchers – a hundred and twelve dollars.  Eleven shots of tequila,  sixty-six dollars.  Your dignity, ninety-nine cents.  Five rum and cokes, fourteen Irish car bombs…  and someone had four diet sodas.  Those were a dollar.  Jesus, Cary.  No wonder we don’t remember anything!”

“I don’t remember offering to pay for it all!” she cried.  “And wait.  Why does the diet soda cost more than my dignity?!”

Dave put his hands up.  “We haven’t run the card yet.  The guy on late last night, Bobby, thought you might say that.  He said you were pretty happy though, and that you might have left with this one.” He gestured toward Jordan.  “We know where to find the guys, if you know what I mean.  Not the first time someone forgot to pick-up their tab in the pursuit of, um… happiness.”

Happy ending, thank you very much.

Jordan immediately produced a credit card.  He had been very, very happy and would gladly foot the bill.  Cary put her head against his arm.

“We don’t remember anything,” she admitted.

Dave smiled like it was the oldest story in the book.  “You were both pretty faced even before I left.  A bunch of the players were here – even Crosby was throwing ‘em back.  Drank about six of those car bombs you ordered.”

Cary’s stomach turned at the thought, she dug her fingers into Jordan’s arm.

“And you two were making out on the stairs.”  

Sure enough there was a flight of stairs behind them that went up to a door marked “Private.”  Cary closed her eyes.  “Sounds about right.”

Dave laughed.  “Thought you were going to make a run for the office, but you stayed out here.  Least till I left.  Bobby said later there was some line dancing after one of the guys got a hold of the jukebox.  And I believe, if Bobby was correct, that some of the boys took home a couple of girls too.  They  yours?”

Jordan looked at Cary, they had their next target.  “We will find out soon enough.”
____

Cary stopped on the sidewalk as the door to Casey’s closed behind her.  “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

Jordan came back a few steps.  “What’s weird?”


“That the receptionist, the waitress and the bartender from last night are all at work again?  And they all remember us?”

He laughed.  “Yeah, that’s pretty strange.  But it sounds like we were pretty memorable.”  His arms fit so nicely around the small of her back, and the way she looked up at him was just begging for a kiss.  So he kissed her.

“Are we in a movie?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I hope it’s Groundhog Day,” he said.  “I could definitely do this morning over again.”
____

Two

Hundreds of pounds of Jordan Staal were on top of Cary in a heartbeat.  He mashed his lips down, forcing her mouth open and kissing her fiercely.  If they were in a movie, this is where he’d throw his pirate sword to the deck of the ship and rip open her bodice.  One press of his hips and Carrie was glad her tongue was too busy to talk.  It may have been the most unladylike moment of her life.  

Thank God he’s going to fuck me again.

There had been a moment, laying there laughing with him, where Cary was unsure why Jordan had stayed.  He’d seen his conquest and determined they were equally confused.  No debts were owed, no promises made.  He could walk away without being a jerk.

Of course then she’d have had to order all the porn the hotel offered.  Could you get a vibrator from room service?  It would be much easier if he just stayed.

And now, as he shifted his knee to spread her thighs apart, Cary was about to scream.  Her nerve endings spun like pinwheels and hormone fireworks exploded inside her stomach.  She ached for him, to be properly and gorgeously fucked.

I will remember everything.

She memorized the hard planes of his back beneath her fingers, the warm boy scent of the skin at his neck.  A day-old beard bristled against her face.  Jordan’s hands were as strong as his mouth, setting her right where he wanted.  But he never touched her down there.  Instead his throbbing erection grew to an impossible size against her thigh.

Cocky son of a bitch.

He was telling her everything without saying a word: I know you’re wet for me, I know you’re ready.  You want me so bad.

Of course he was right.

She took a deep breath as her hand felt over the ridges of his rock hard abs.  Alongside her head, huge biceps were flexed as they held her tight to his kiss.  Cary was afraid she might start to cry.  Then she reached the thick pole he’d been spearing her with and gasped.

“Jesus, Jordan,” she said right against his lips.

He laughed a little, but the stroke of her hand was too incredible as she attempted to judge his size.  He didn’t know what kind of guys she’d been with, but he could guarantee she’d never been with a guy like him.

“How could I forget that?”

She brought him to the spot and his tip prodded at her swollen, slick entrance.  He rubbed along her slit twice, nudging himself just enough to part her lips and promise things to come.

I’m going to die so, so happy.

Jordan smiled down at her.  “First time all over again.”

Cary shifted down, pushing herself onto the first inch of his dick with a shudder.  She could not believe this had ever happened, forget it ever happening again.  Her brain was on red alert, her skin tingled.  Jordan-fucking-Staal.

She said, “This time, make me remember.”
____

Jordan was shaking.  His muscles vibrated like he was double-shifting in the second period and it was miles to the bench.  Like he’d been holding a squat or plank push-up for hours.  The moment his pounding cock touched the hot streak of her entrance, he thought he was going to blow his load.

Control yourself.

It wasn’t easy.  She returned his kiss like she was practicing to suck his dick.  Her skin was supple in his hands and her hips rolled up to meet his with increasing force.  He positioned himself then smiled at her just in case he killed her on the first thrust.

Jordan had a lot of first times.  Where there was a second time, it was often an hour later, waking the girl from a drunken stupor with his hand in her snatch and going again before he passed out for real.  A few of his first times, with girls he considered “real” in his life, had been sober and intentional, if poorly planned.  And now he was about to get a mulligan with someone he thought might actually be able to handle him.  He didn’t care if she only wanted to be with him because he played for her favorite team.  That made him an idol, a god.  

“Make me remember,” she said.

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and called on every saint with a Canadian city named after them to help him.  Then he slowly, oh so slowly pressed himself into her pussy.

Holy sweet fucking hell.

Jordan sucked in what might have been his last breath to keep from coming that instant.  Instead his brain melted and dripped down his spinal cord, setting his blood free to pour southward.  Every ounce of testosterone in his massive body rushed to his cock, dying to bust loose.

Cary moaned.  The sound eased from her throat like a note from a saxophone, like a snake charmer calling to his body.  He buried his face in her neck and fought to hold on.  It was a long, long way to the bottom of that hole.

When he finally felt the soft round of her ass press to his thighs, when he was finally screwed all the way into her socket, only then did he exhale.

“Fucking hell,” she whispered.

“Fucking heaven,” he replied.

No way I forgot this.

Jordan was afraid to move.  He feared opening the gate and starting the race – he was packing a lot of horsepower.  His dick pounded with hormones and anticipation.
____

There’s no way.

Unless there had been a priest handy at the Marriott last night to perform an exorcism, there was no chance Cary could have forgotten being possessed by Jordan Staal.  Her body rioted, poured so full of his cock she didn’t have room to breathe.  But she didn’t need it – she bet on passing out the second he moved anyway.  There were no signs that something so large had never passed this way before.

“We must,” she started.

“…. not have,” he finished for her.  His bright blue eyes stared down in disbelief.  Cary knew that Jordan never, ever failed to seal the deal.  If they were right, there was a first time for that before the first time for this.  And now both were over.

I’m such a slut.

Do-overs were one thing, even if you didn’t remember.  But this was light-of-day, wide awake fucking a complete and total stranger.  Well, he wasn’t a stranger.  He was a fantasy.  She had fantasized about this.  Maybe that was good enough?  They’d obviously thought about it last night, maybe even tried.  Could Cary take the actual deed from one of her dirty daydreams and superimpose it on the night before?  

“I wanted to,” Jordan said.  “I know I wanted to.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, the look in his eyes was an apology.  He was sorry he hadn’t fucked her last night, and that he’d started so unceremoniously this morning.   And they were still doing it –well, they hadn’t even really started.

“I’d say you could have bought me breakfast first,” she smiled.  

“I will.  When we’re done.”  He spoke quickly, like swearing an oath.  His face was reddening.  A vein stood out along his neck and his hard-on beat like a bass drum inside her, soaking itself in her sweetness.  He was struggling.

Jordan Staal wants me so bad.

Cary couldn’t have been more confident if she’d come back from the future with winning lottery numbers.  He was dying for it.  Jordan was the spark and she held the fuse.  She gave him a sly smile.  

“I don’t plan on ever being done with you.”

It was like a checkered flag.  Cary waved once and Jordan floored it, leaping off the line and going top speed in seconds.  The first stroke was a gust, knocking her down.  The second was a gale, flattening her out.  That impossibly long, incredibly thick erection worked into her like an oil well.  Jordan moved smoothly, rhythmically and went deeper every time.  He drilled for pleasure.  Cary heard a voice that sounded like her own sob out.

“Ohmygod.”

Jordan’s huge hands were locked on her hips, swiveling her down along his raging shaft.  She twisted with him and earned a loud grunt for her efforts.  His shoulders rolled down over her.

“Don’t do that, I’m gonna come too soon,” he panted.

He’s going to come too soon.  Over me.

A victory march played in her mind.
____

Jordan had to breathe.  Holding his breath made it easier to hold onto his orgasm, but it heightened the sensation of every movement.  Despite his warning, Cary could not just lie still and let him fuck her.  She writhed and lifted, getting what she needed as Jordan did the same.  Only he needed less – just to be crammed inside her gloriously tight prize.  So he had to think fast.

“What makes you come, Cary? Tell me what you want.”

When in doubt, ask.  Jordan had no trouble asking.  Girls were like locks and you could spin the dial for days without cracking the code.  Plus, it made them feel in charge.  And it let you know how dirty they wanted to get.

“I don’t,” she tried.  “Keep going.”

Oh I’ll go soon.

That was the trouble – this girl was pushing him too far too fast.  He was in danger of losing it already.  So he slid his hands beneath her ass, lifted her hips into his lap and sat up as best he could, picking a position slightly less comfortable for him.  One rough finger came around and stroked strongly over her exposed clit.

“Holy shit,” she sobbed.  He worked the little pearl beneath his callused fingertip, circles and back, then slipped a finger on each side and rubbed up and down.  Cary’s back arched and her ass lifted clear off his hand.

That’s it.

He was ruthless.  Cary whispered and cursed, but he kept going.  He ran a hand over her taut stomach, felt it flutter as the tension built in her perfect body.  He wanted to crack it like a safe.

“You like that?” he whispered, pressing in a particular place that made her twitch.  She gasped.  “I want you, Cary.”

She came with a strangled cry, throwing her head back to the mattress.  None of the porn star performance bullshit Jordan always saw, girls who thought they had to sell it like a used car.  He could feel her body tense hard then go supernova, launching away.  Looking down over the exquisite girl in his arms, Jordan felt like he was king of the world.

And there wasn’t a second to waste.  He dropped Cary back to the bed and whispered, “My turn.”  He slipped back inside her like he was coming home and it blocked everything else from his mind.  Working against her so hard he should have called a doctor, Jordan quickly brought himself right up to a boil.  Cary held onto his shoulders, pressing herself down to meet this thrusts and holding his gaze as he fucked her ragged.

“Come on, Jordan,” she said.

Even soaked as she was, Jordan felt friction like never before.  His brain buzzed and his vision blurred, his balls drawing up tight to his body in preparation.  He could not believe the words even as he thought them.

This is the best sex of my life.  Jesus, who is this girl?

And he let go.  It was like free falling from a plane, spinning madly while pushed backward and up by the forces of nature.  Jordan poured himself into Cary, bellowing, until his cock and his heart finally sank in exhaustion.

“Fucking right,” he laughed weakly, collapsed on top of her like a pile of bricks.
____

Cary was gone.  There would be nothing left to find when she never came home.  Crushed happily beneath Jordan’s slumped form, she drew shallow breaths and tried to remember what it had been like to die.

I chose wisely.

If she’d had a choice at all, last night at the bar where a midget may or may not have appeared, Cary knew she’d made the best possible selection.  It might not have been easy, depending which Penguins’ player names were on the ballot.  But if she’d ever had to pick a candidate for the best sex of her life, she’d have voted for Jordan Staal.

Without raising his head, Jordan spoke.  His mouth was against her neck, passing the message as much by vibration.  “Can I tell you something really important?”  

She nodded.  

“Your friends are going to need another room.”
_